


Chaos and Bloodshed

by justcallmeasmodeus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Dean Winchester Reader Insert - Freeform, F/M, Reader Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 03:15:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15899775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justcallmeasmodeus/pseuds/justcallmeasmodeus
Summary: Dean Winchester asked you to marry him 5 years ago, and you responded by running away. Only the end of the world could bring you back together.





	Chaos and Bloodshed

The warehouse loomed before you, seemingly uninhabited. As you gazed upon the building for the first time in years the memory of the last time you were inside came crashing forward, breaking through the walls you had spent all that time carefully constructing.

_ You picked your way carefully through the hallway, a bag of clothes thrown over your shoulder. Your heart shattered with each step, but you had to do this. Dean Winchester had just asked you to marry him, and you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You couldn’t continue to watch him destroy himself, destroy you, over and over again. Part of what made you fall in love with him was his selfless actions, but now they were pushing you away. _

A knock at the window caused you to jump, startling you from your daydream. You quickly rolled it down, and an ever familiar scent of musky sandalwood wafted in moments before a head of shaggy brown hair eclipsed your vision.

“Y/N! It’s been too long.” A 1,000 watt smile beamed your way.

“Hey Sam.” You returned his smile with a sad one of your own.

“Don’t be a stranger, your spot in the garage is still open.” Even after 5 years and during the end of the world Sam was still chivalrous. 

Sam hit the hood of your car twice, waving you on through to the garage. You weaved through the various throng of other hunters’ cars, feeling a twinge of guilt as thunder boomed in the distance. After filling in a few of the other new arrivals Sam jogged into the garage behind you, closing the door behind himself. You pulled into your regular spot, killing the engine and refusing to admit to yourself how right this felt. Your heart cracked as your eyes froze on the vacant spot where the Impala belonged.

“Dean?” You breathed the question as Sam helped you unload your bags.

“He’s on a supply run. We weren’t exactly prepared to host quite this many, though we are glad you’re all here.”

“Nothing like the end of everything to finally bring together all the hunters. Should’ve known the going away party would be hosted by the Winchesters.” You used a smile to hide the fact that worry over Dean was still coursing through your veins like ice water.

“I missed that mouth of yours.” Sam chuckled, and you allowed him to lead you into the bunker. 

Everything had changed, yet nothing had really changed at all. There was new paint on the walls, but the last table in the library was still scarred with your initials. A few rugs had been placed, and a few more comfortable desk chairs had been added to the collection, but it still smelled like leather, whiskey and old books. 

You looked around at the few small groups of strangers in the room. They all had the tell tale signs of hunting; some moved with a limp, their skin was crisscrossed with cuts and scars of various ages. They stuck to the ones they knew, everyone wary of each other in this day and age. Before this disease, known as The Power, there would be mingling, with drinks flowing and maybe even some classic rock playing in the background, but now fear kept a healthy distance between strangers. 

You couldn’t blame them, The Power was terrifying. It came from another universe, and it took over your body, turning you into nothing more than a meat suit. It couldn’t be exorcised like a demon or angel, and it could take over anyone. There was no need to be a special vessel. They had announced they were planning to begin breeding and taking over, which had everyone terrified. No one knew exactly what that meant, and when even the supernatural entities were scared, you knew there was a problem.

“Y/N,” Sam put a hand on the small of your back and pulled you to his side instinctively, “we saved your room for you.”

Your stomach tightened with a nervous anticipation. Five years, which had seemed like a lifetime yesterday, was rapidly becoming not enough time away. As you walked next to Sam you fell into an old and familiar pace, and you noticed the unconscious change in his gait as well. You looked at his face out of the corner of your eye, but aside from being blanketed in stress it was unreadable.

“Sam…” You started, but he shook his head and stopped your words in their tracks.

“No, don’t. I understand why you left. You don’t owe me any of the apologies you think you do. If you still feel like you owe me anything…” He stopped in front of your old door and turned to face you. “Pay me after this is over.”

He leaned in and hugged you before disappearing into his room around the corner. You turned back to your door and swallowed hard, willing your heart to stay in your chest rather than your throat. Putting your nerves aside you turned the door handle and walked inside. Tears burned behind your eyes before you even had the chance to turn on the light; behind the door wafted a wall of sweet and spicy apple cinnamon, courtesy of your favorite scent of plug in. A memory broke through the wall holding it back and you let it wash over you.

_ “Why does your room always smell like pie?” Dean asked as your fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest. _

_ “There’s a plug in behind the door. Apple Cinnamon, my favorite.”  _

_ “No candles?” He ran his fingers absentmindedly up and down your upper arm and shoulder. _

_ “With the way you shake the bed? We’d have burnt down the bunker four times over.” _

_ “Me?” Dean propped himself up on his elbow to look down on you with mock disdain. “Well I never.” His mock southern belle accent caused laughter to bubble out of you. _

_ “All right Aunt Bee. Whatever you say.” _

A knock from somewhere down the hall pulled you back to the present. You flicked on the light and closed the door behind you. As your eyes took in the room, you let your bag drop to the floor. Everything was still exactly where you left it five years ago. You walked over and touched the pictures stuck in the mirror frame on your vanity. You let your fingers trail over the top of your dresser as you walked along the room, and as your eyes fell upon the dusty nightstand you realized something  _ was  _ missing; there was no dust on the other room surfaces. 

As you took a closer look around the room, you noted that everything was cleaned recently. You weren’t sure if it was a recent thing, in hopes that you would be returning, or if it was a routine thing, because this was now just another room. You walked over to the nightstand, your hand instinctively going to the object you left in the center. You picked up the cold metal ring, blowing off the dust, and letting yourself get lost in your memories once more.

_ “Y/N, I don’t say this near enough, but I love you. I think I always have, and even though I don’t always let you love me, you do it anyways. Completely, and utterly without fail. You’ve managed to gather the pieces of me and put them together. I know that to you this is just a ring and a piece of paper, you’ve told me a hundred times, but will you marry me? Do me the honor of taking my last name?” _

You wiped away a tear and shook the memory out of your head. You would never be able to forget the look in his eye as he looked up at you, the ring that you now held in your hand shaking in his. He had looked scared in a way that you had never seen before, but his trust in you shone through all of his fear. You took that, and you broke it, in all the worst ways. You could never forgive yourself, how could he?

You heard his boots pounding in the hallway at a dead sprint. You dropped the ring back on the table, and turned to face the door as he burst through it. His eyes were wide, his face pale, and his breathing was hard, and it had nothing to do with his short sprint through the bunker. He had aged more than five years since you’d been gone. There were new lines by his mouth and eyes, and his scruff and hair was beginning to gray. 

“Dean.” His name slipped from your lips on a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding.

“Y/N.” His voice was flat and even, his facial expression was unreadable. Even his eyes, where once you could read his every emotion, were cold and hard. Your heart shattered.

“Dean I-”

“No.” You inhaled sharply, doing your best to fight back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “You don’t get to apologize to me. You don’t get to walk back in here like you never walked back out. I looked for you, I scoured this country from top to bottom, for years. You were the only one,” his voice cracked as a tear slid down his cheek, prompting your own to fall “the only one who took enough of me to break me. I didn’t  _ give _ you anything, you took it and then you broke it. Why?”

Anger flashed through your veins. What right did he have to question you after all those times that he broke you down? After countless nights laying awake wondering if he was dead or alive? 

“Because I loved… love you. Do you know what it did to me to watch you sacrifice yourself over and over again without even thinking of me? Maybe it’s selfish of me, but I left because every time you selflessly put your life on the line it killed me. Coming back from a hunt is never a guarantee, but you always seemed to find a way to push it further than that.  Every time I stood beside you and supported you, but inside I was a wreck, and you never seemed to notice. I couldn’t live my life dying every time you did your job, and I couldn’t hold you back. So I did the only thing that I could think of to save myself. I ran.” Tears were pouring down your face now, but your voice was strong and determination burned in your eyes.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Dean’s voice was still hard, but his eyes were softening.

“It wouldn’t have changed anything!” You raised your voice, and you saw him clench his fists at his sides in response. “You waltzed in here expecting me to just apologize! After five years, you still didn’t know why I left!” You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, your anger the only thing keeping you from breaking down into body wracking sobs. “I dialed your number every night for over a year, wanting nothing more than to hear your voice. I turned away from 24 hunts because I saw the Impala there. I left the country because I couldn’t get away from you, but every step farther away broke me. I kept going because I knew that if I stayed you would do the same thing to me, so I took back the only thing I could; my control.”

Dean swallowed hard, his hard resolve dissipating as he really looked at you for the first time in five years. You were no longer the strong, stubborn woman he had fallen in love with. All the pieces where there, but they were broken and fractured. He wondered if he could do for you what you did for him: if he loved you hard enough, if he could love your pieces back together. After all, words had never done much for Dean Winchester: he was a man of action.

He quickly closed the space between you in three steps. He stopped directly in front of you, his eyes soft and caring. You looked up at him, tears still trickling down your cheeks. He moved slowly, like he was afraid of scaring you away, but any strength you had to leave was gone. He cupped the side of your face, and you closed your eyes, leaning into his hand. He wiped away a tear with his thumb before pulling you in for a kiss.

His lips pressed against yours lightly, cautiously, full of uncertainty. Your heart hammered in your chest, your breath caught in your throat, and all rational thought left your mind. Emotion took the wheel, stepping you closer to Dean, raising your arms and wrapping them around his neck, pulling him closer. Dean’s hand moved to the back of your head, his other arm wrapped around your waist. His lips crushed into yours, working them apart as his tongue darted into your mouth and he familiarized himself with you once more. 

You ran your hands through his hair, pulling lightly and pushing your body against his, causing him to groan lowly. He responded by tightening his hold on you; his fingers curled in your hair, and his other hand gripped a handful of your shirt. Every emotion was poured out as layers of clothes hit the floor. Every need was conveyed through red scratches and purple bruises. You felt yourself coming home as the bed groaned in protest. The headboard slammed against the wall, but you didn’t consciously hear it. Dean flooded every sense. 

The silence afterwards was comfortable. Dean blanketed you, kissing and nuzzling your neck while you absentmindedly traced patterns on his back and shoulders. Neither one of you wanted to move, for fear that if you did you would wake up and this would all be a dream. Here, in this moment, nothing else mattered; you felt complete, whole. 

You fell asleep together, but when you woke up Dean had left. You rubbed your eyes, trying to push the sting of his absence out of your mind. When you sat up you noticed he had left you the flannel he had been wearing, folded at the foot of the bed with a simple note that  read ‘wear me’. 

You crawled out of bed, pulling on a pair of shorts and the flannel, and looking at yourself in the mirror. You had changed too, though you failed to notice it until you saw the changes in Dean. Your face was leaner, your eyes harder. You weren’t as innocent as you had been five years ago. You also noted that your hair was a mess, and your cheeks blushed as you played back that afternoon’s events. You gathered your hair into a quick messy bun and headed out to find Dean. 

The sound of voices sounded through the corridor, and you followed it out to the kitchen. Groups of hunters were gathered around one another, free flowing alcohol liberating them from their previous inhibitions. Stories of past hunts and gruesome monsters filled the room, and your mouth watered at the smell of fresh burgers and fries. The door to the garage was opened, and you followed your nose outside.

Dean was standing in front of a grill, a new edition since you’d been gone, sipping a beer and chatting with two younger male hunters. His back was turned toward you, facing the opened garage door and the summer storm outside. You hung back for a moment, content to watch him tell stories, trying to guess if it was one you knew by the way he moved his hands. He always kept one eye on the burgers, flipping them to get perfect sear marks on both sides without over cooking them. 

One of the other hunters acknowledged you, and you sauntered over as if you hadn’t just been drinking in Dean in all his glory. Dean’s face brightened and his eyes crinkled as he smiled your way. Your heart fluttered in your chest as he held out his arm so you could stand beneath it. As he wrapped it around your shoulders you grabbed the bottom of his beer and brought it to your lips, drinking while his fingers were still wrapped around the neck of the bottle.

“So this is her?” One of the younger hunters asked. “This is the one who brought down the mighty Dean Winchester?” 

“What are you talking about?” You felt Dean stiffen behind you.

“I think you kids better go inside. Here, take these fresh ones with you.” Dean let go of his beer and filled a plate with burger patties before adding the last three to the grill.

The young hunters left, leaving just you and Dean in the garage. He let you have what was left of his beer and grabbed a fresh one from a cooler down by the grill. Thunder rumbled in the sky and a cool breeze blew into the garage, causing goosebumps to break out on your bare legs. Dean stood behind you, leaning his head on your shoulder and wrapping his arms around you while you watched the storm outside.

“What were they talking about, bringing down the mighty Dean Winchester?” You felt Dean sigh against you.

“I gave up hunting, about a year after you left. I saw you all over every case, and I kept thinking that you were going to be the next victim. For the past few years I’ve stayed local. Sam still goes out and works with everyone hands on, kind of like a kickass coach, but I’ve basically turned into Bobby Singer 2.0.”

“Dean, I had no idea. I didn’t think you could ever give it up.” Dean chuckled sadly.

“Neither did I. For the first year it was hell, but then I guess I just got used to it. I still was able to help everyone, which made it easier, and it gave me more time to look for you. Not that I ever found you.”

“Yeah well, I learned how to cover my tracks from the best.” You turned and kissed Dean, trying to apologize in the only way you knew how.  
“He taught you a little too well in my opinion.” Dean smiled, pulling you tighter and nuzzling his head next to yours.

You stood there for a minute in silence, just letting the moment be what the moment was. You focused on the now: the sound of the rain and thunder mixing with the sizzle of grilling burgers and Dean’s steady breathing in your ear, the smell of meat, rain, earth, and Dean, the feel of the cold wind mixing with the heat coming off of Dean’s body and the steady rise and fall of his chest. The future could wait, and the past was already gone.

“That’s a sight for sore eyes.” Dean chuckled in your ear at Sam’s comment. He turned around and went back to the grill, flipping the burgers and pulling cheese out of the beer cooler.

“Is cheese contraband now?” You laughed as Dean put two slices of cheese on each burger.

“Do you know how expense it would be for everyone to have cheese on their burgers? There’s gotta be 40 hunters in there!”

“When did you get so domestic?” You couldn’t help but grin as you watched him in this rare insouciant moment.

He served your burgers with a shrug, and as the three of you stood together in garage you felt yourself relax. This is where you belonged, no matter how much to tried to convince yourself otherwise. This was your family, your home, your peace.

 

You were the first one up the next morning. It wasn’t a slow easy rise to consciousness; one second you were asleep, the next your mind was racing at top speed with no focus. You closed your eyes and focused on what was around you in an attempt to squeeze a little more sleep out of the morning. You focused on the steady rise and fall of Dean’s chest against your back, matching your breathing to his. You focused on the puffs of air on the back of your neck as he breathed, and on the weight of his arm strewn across your abdomen, tucked comfortably underneath your chest. He clung to you, from the way his face was on the other half of your pillow down to his legs hooked around yours, everything pulling you to him, even in his sleep. 

It was perfect, it was relaxing, but sleep was long gone. You planned to stay in bed, content to let Dean hold you in his sleep, but the longer you were dormant the more your anxiety gnawed at you. You slowly began to untangle yourself with a sigh, careful not to wake Dean as you crawled out of bed and pulled on some clothes.

You slipped out of the room and into the kitchen in darkness, your feet guided by memory. You flicked on the lights as you stepped inside the room, cringing at the amount of clean dishes that hadn’t gotten put back in the right places last night. You started a full pot of coffee, the first of many you were sure to go through that day, and got to work.

By the time you had the kitchen back in order it was time to tear it apart again. You pulled out flour, sugar, whiskey and a giant mixing bowl when you heard the coffee pot rattle behind you. You turned around to see a sleepy Dean pouring a cup of coffee in a pair of boxers and lounge pants. He looked at you and smiled as he took a sip, a look of confusion crossing his face as he spied the whiskey on the table behind you.

“How long have you been up?”

“It’s for breakfast. As long as you still like pancakes?”

His eyes lit up and a grin crossed his face. Your Jack Daniels pancakes were his favorite. He grabbed an old worn apron off the hook on the wall, grabbed the remaining ingredients, and the two of you got to work flipping enough pancakes to feed your hunter army.

 

After breakfast was served you and Dean grabbed a shower together before joining everyone in the library. The joy of breakfast had left, and Sam was standing in the center of the room with a letter. His face was sullen, and you could tell by way Dean tensed that something was seriously wrong. He walked over to his brother and took the letter, his green eyes scanning it quickly. His face paled, and when his eyes met yours your heart dropped.

“Y/N I’m sorry.” Your brows knit in confusion.

“Dean, what’s wrong?”

“They want me to give myself up. They say that if I do, they’ll stop. That if do this, there won’t have to be a war.”

The room started to spin. You were suddenly right back in the same place you were five years ago. The look in those green eyes hadn’t changed. You knew without a doubt, that he would do it to save the people in this room. Couldn’t he see that it was a lie?

“No.” Your voice surprised even you. It was hard, low, and authoritative.

“What do you mean ‘no’? We don’t really have any other options here Y/N, I’m not going to put all these people at risk when we can end this with one loss.”

“No Dean. You can’t just sacrifice yourself. That’s not the answer.” Two defiant tears dropped from your eyes.

“Then what is the answer Y/N? Huh? Fighting, death, suffering?  Chaos and bloodshed are not a solution- ” His voice was raised, and years of suppressed emotions were making their way to the surface, but you weren’t about to back down and fall into old habits. It was time for a change.

“Chaos and bloodshed already haunt us!”  Your voice boomed over his, stunning him to silence. “Look around Dean, and open your eyes.” You indicated to the crowd around you. “Each and every one of us has scars from this line of work. We have never backed down before, and we aren’t about to back down now.” You stepped up on the nearest table so that you could see above everyone crowded in the library. “We are hunters! You called us here to fight, and that’s what we’re going to do. Let it never be told that we ran to the finish line and tucked our tails and fled. We are the ones that strike fear into the monsters that go bump in the night. We are the ones that fear is afraid of. We are the ones whose job it is to defend this world, so defend it we will. Until our last breath, we will fight!”

A cheer rose through the crowd, and Dean’s smirk was lost in to you as he was hidden by up raised arms. Here was the strong, feisty, fiery girl he had fallen in love with. Even when he didn’t want to fight, you always found a way to inspire him. Your eyes found his, burning bright with challenge. 

“What do you say Dean?”

“Alright Braveheart, get off the table before you hurt yourself. We’ll do things your way.”

 

You had a week until The Power was going to make their move. You organized, streamlined, and prepared as best as you could with that time. Sam headed up research, Dean taught hand to hand combat, and you helped supervise target practice and making ammunition. 

You didn’t get to spend a whole lot of time together during the day, but at night you and Dean soothed each other’s aching muscles and bruises with soft caresses and hot kisses. You made up for all the lost time you could, relearning every inch of skin, memorizing every sound, every breath, every heartbeat. You branded Dean further into your mind, an unspoken fear between you that this would be the last week you would be able to hold each other. 

Four days into the week Sam ran into the War room, causing everyone to stop and look at him.

“We found something.” Sam tucked a wayward piece of hair behind his ear as he sat an old lore book down in front of Dean and pointed excitedly to a small passage. “This here, it’s the only thing we’ve found that even mentions The Power. It says ‘Only the ultimate sacrifice made by the soulmate of the chosen one in their place can defeat The Power.’” 

“What does that even mean? I would assume the ultimate sacrifice is death, but who is the chosen one? Are soulmates even real?” You leaned over Dean’s shoulder and studied the text, but it was in a language you weren’t familiar with.

“It’s me. That letter, they handed us the instructions to destroy them in hopes that we would do exactly what we did and brush it off!” Dean’s fist pounded the table and you bit your lip to hold back angry tears.

“Dean, we don’t know that. You can’t just go assuming everything that goes bump in the night requires you to sacrifice yourself.” Sam reached his arm around you to squeeze Dean’s shoulder, and his voice was calm and soothing. After a moment Dean relaxed again, taking a deep breath before he spoke.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. See if you can’t find anything else. We’ll keep working here. We will defeat them.” 

 

Neither of you slept that last night. In the hours before dawn you shared a look and wordlessly got up, taking Dean’s hand as he led you outside. You sat together on the hood of the Impala, watching the sky lighten, drinking in each other presence and wondering if this would be the last time either of you watched the sun rise. Dean leaned over and kissed you just as the sun broke over the horizon, pouring all of his emotions into you. It was a last kiss. He left you breathless and dizzy, and he leaned his forehead against yours, a calloused hand gripping the back of your neck.

“I love you.” The words were barely a whisper on his lips, but they were heavy in the air between you. They rarely slipped between Dean Winchester’s lips, and you knew he was ready to give in.

“I know.” You weren’t ready to give up. You refused to believe that this would be the end.

 

Fifteen cars lined up on the edge of a field. It felt surreal, walking on the ground that would be stained with blood in less than an hour. You looked down the line of hunters to your left and right, fighting back the burn of tears as the reality that this would be the last time that you saw some of these people sunk in. You felt Dean intertwine his fingers with yours and squeeze your hand, bringing your focus back to him.

“When this is over, marry me.” 

“Dean Winchester, ever the romantic.” You stood on your toes to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Just make sure to protect your face for the pictures.” 

Sam wrapped his arm around your shoulders, seeking comfort you always so openly offered. He cleared his throat and as The Power crested the hill, moving ominously in sync. He reached over and squeezed Dean’s shoulder.

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

A gunshot rang out. A body thumped to the ground. The war began.

 

Bullets sang through the air, sometimes close enough you could feel the wind around them. Bodies fell on both sides, but you were dismayed as you noticed that for every member of the Power that you took down, it seemed like two more popped up, and given enough time the fallen Power would rise again, no matter how horrific the wound. There was no end.

You shook with exhaustion. You felt warm sticky blood seeping from a wound at your leg, and your machete felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. You stumbled and fell to your knees, your eyes searching for Dean. He saw you fall, his eyes widening with fear. His eyes pulled away from your face, and you followed his gaze. 

The Power loomed over you, an evil grin blooming over his face. He lifted a gun, but your fingers couldn’t untangle yours from its holster. He took aim, you took a deep breath. You closed your eyes and flinched as the soundwaves from the gunshot tore through air. You jumped as you felt blood splatter on your face, and opened your eyes in time to see the body in front of you crumple to the ground. Dean ran over and pulled you to your feet, crushing you against his chest. You could feel his heart pounding erratically as you tried to steady your own breathing. When he pulled away there were tears on his cheeks.

“I’m sorry Y/N/N. I have to stop this.” 

You stumbled as you tried to follow him, a twisted knee keeping you from keeping up with Dean. You felt a hand touch you just as Dean slipped out of your line of sight, and you spun around defensively. Castiel stood behind you, hands raised in surrender. You realized that the fighting in the battlefield intensified as angels and demons joined in.

“I recruited some help.” Cas shrugged, reaching out and touching your forehead. You felt refreshed and you were able to refocus. 

“I have to find Dean. Get the angels to heal who they can, and have the Demons attack anyone that isn’t human. Protect the hunters. Stay safe.” 

You took off running before Cas could answer, dodging weapons, bodies, and bullets. You saw Dean fighting his way to the leader of The Power, easily recognizable by the spear that never left his hand. Your heart beat hard in your chest as you realized what Dean was about to do.

“Dean,” you shouted, causing Dean to throw an apologetic look over his shoulder, “Dean please don’t do this!” 

The Power’s leader smirked your way, and with a flick of his wrist and a nod of his head the three guards around him headed your way. A mix of desperation and raged burned through your system as you tightened your grip on your weapons, intent on stopping Dean no matter what. 

You beheaded the first one easily, but the the second and third guards reached you at the same time. You switched from an offensive stance to a defensive one, all of your energy focused on keeping their hands off of you. They were good, but you were better. The second guard stumbled while stepping forward to throw a punch, and you used the opportunity to shove your last knife into his chest. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the leader nod to Dean and adjust his grip on his spear. You wanted to scream, to call out, but no sound would leave your mouth.

You shoved the wounded guard into the one still on his feet and used the distraction to slip past them. Time slowed. You willed your feet to move faster as you watched the spear rise in the air. Your intent was to shove Dean out of the way, but you miscalculated where he was standing. Instead, you ended up sliding in front of him just as the Leader brought down his spear.

It felt like a punch to the chest. The leader grinned at you, and you used his hesitation to grip the spear in an attempt to prevent him from pulling it out; if you were going to die, you would buy Dean as much time as possible to run. You could still hear all the noise from the battle, but now it sounded like you were underwater. You faintly registered Dean screaming your name, and you turned to him. You smiled, a cough causing the taste of copper to flood your mouth. 

“What did you do?” Dean’s voice cracked, desperation seeping through as your arms dropped from the spear. You felt hot and weak, your heart beating erratically around the foreign object.

“I love you too.” They were the last words your brain could bring into focus as the rest of the world began to grow fuzzy.

The leader shook you off the end of his spear effortlessly, but the grin fell from his face as you fell back into Dean’s arms. You vaguely registered feeling wet as Dean laid you down, and a golden glow was coming from the wound in your chest. It grew brighter and stronger as you felt yourself slipping away.

“Impossible.” It was the last word you heard as you slipped into darkness.

 

The light exploded from your chest, causing Dean to shield his eyes. When he opened them again everyone on the battlefield was laying on the ground. Those who had been infected with The Power looked around in confusion. Those who had perished were taking gasping breaths. Dean jumped as a hand landed on his shoulder, and he looked up to see a shocked Castiel.

“Cas…” Dean started, but he knew there was nothing Cas could to do help you. He held you close, his throat burning with the threat of tears.

“Dean, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize… I didn’t even think they still existed. No one has heard of a true soulmate in centuries.” 

Dean didn’t answer. He couldn’t. All he could do was pull you closer, and fall apart.

 

You knew that you weren’t dead because everything hurt. It felt like every iota of your being was screaming in agony. The pain was white hot. It felt like you were being ripped apart, but something was holding you together. There was a cool pressure on the outside edges, and you clung to it, focusing on it as you pulled in a shaky breath. Each passing breath was easier than the one before, and as you breathed the pain faded to a dull ache centered on your chest. 

You felt more. You could feel the grass beneath you, the soft breeze on your skin, the strong arms around your upper body, and the hot tears on your neck. You groaned as you struggled to open your eyelids. You blinked against the bright sunlight, your eyes locking in Dean’s as he stared down at you in disbelief.

 

2 years later

 

You sat in bed, Dean’s flannel pulled close around you. You read the same page of the book you were reading for the third time, absorbing nothing. Your head jerked up as the door to your room opened, and Dean snuck in. You bit your bottom lip as you watched the muscles in his back move while he ran his hand through his hair.

“Alright, I think we should be good for awhile.” He turned on the baby monitor that was sitting on the dresser. “Now, where were we?” He licked his lips as he turned to you, grabbing your ankle and pulling you down the bed until you were laying flat. 

“You were lying there,” you pointed to the bed next to you, “being distracting, and I was sitting here trying to get through page 47 of this very intriguing lore book.”

“Intriguing huh?” He grinned and raised an eyebrow. “What’s it about?” He ran his hands slowly up your legs as he crawled above you on the bed, pulling a smile to your lips. 

“Hmm, werewolves.” 

“Oh really?” He chuckled and pulled the book from your hands and placed it on the nightstand. “The last time I read Christine, it was about a car.”

Dean reached up to cradle your face, his thumb rubbing softly against your cheekbone. He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours, drawing out a content sigh. He worked his way back down your body, deftly undoing doing buttons as he went. He pulled the flannel apart, leaving you exposed to him. He bent and pressed a kiss to the small bump of your abdomen, a grin spreading on his face as he did so. He pressed hot kisses up your torso, stopping when he got to your neck. He placed a hand over your heart, the golden scar fitting perfectly from the heel of his palm to the tip of his middle finger. 


End file.
